A blog provided for those friends from Canonsburg,Pa to share, think back, indulge in a few memories and hopefully re-connect on a friendship that has distanced from you...
As I've said before: "Who had it better than us!"...enjoy, Dick Garboski

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Thursday, June 23, 2011

Arthur "Bucky" Maughan has spent most of his life in North Dakota, but he still has ties to Southwestern Pennsylvania.
"My mother lives near Waynesburg," said Maughan, who attended Canonsburg High School. "She's 91. I don't get to visit as often as I would like."
Maughan, who just turned 70, will now have more time to visit his mother. One month ago, Maughan retired from his job as head wrestling coach at North Dakota State University, located in Fargo.
"The sport of wrestling was introduced in North Dakota five years before I started coaching," said Maughan, who coached the Bison for 47 years. "They had a track coach running the [wrestling] program before I took over in 1964, and they didn't win many matches."
The program has won quite a few matches since Maughan took charge.
Maughan is clearly the winningest coach in North Dakota State history. He finished his career with a record of 467-157-13. He led the Bison to three undefeated seasons in 1984-85, 1991-92 and 2003-04.
"The NDSU wrestling program is synonymous with the Maughan name," said Gene Taylor, the school's director of athletics. "Bucky has built a standard of excellence for our program over his 47 years that we will be eternally grateful for. He will be missed in the wrestling room but we look forward to his continued involvement as an ambassador for wrestling and our wrestling alumni."
A National Wrestling Hall of Fame inductee, Maughan led the Bison to four NCAA Division II national championships in 1988, 1998, 2000 and 2001 as well as six national runner-up finishes.
During the Division II era, he coached 21 wrestlers to 30 NCAA Division II national championships and had 19 wrestlers compete in the Division I Championships, including six place-winners.
Maughan also led North Dakota State to 17 North Central Conference titles, including a span of nine in a row from 1982-1990, and coached 88 individual conference champions. He was inducted into the Division II Wrestling Hall of Fame in 1997.

"The thing I'm most proud of is the consistency we've had over the years," Maughan said. "I'm also proud of the success we've had since moving up to Division I."
Maughan successfully guided the Bison into the Division I era. Since making the move to Division I in 2006, he has coached five Western Wrestling Conference champions and sent five wrestlers to the NCAA Divison I Championships.

"We had one of the most successful wrestling programs in Division II history," Maughan said. "The next step was to have success at the Division I level and I think it's safe to say we've done that. We had a 10-4 record last year and have had two excellent recruiting classes."
Maughan still loves coaching, but doesn't feel he can keep up with his wrestlers.
"I don't feel any different than I did 25 years ago, but my timing is off," Maughan said. "I just don't move as quickly on the mat. I decided that it was time to hang it up."
Maughan may be stepping down as head coach, but his association with the university will continue.
"I started an endowment fund in the '90s to benefit the program and the university," Maughan said. "I plan to keep working in that area until we complete the renovations to the Fargodome, which should begin next fall.
"We built the Fargodome in 1970 for $3,000,000. Now we're spending $38 million to renovate the entire facility. We're spending $1,000,000 on the new wrestling complex, which will have a huge wrestling room, locker room, showers and weight room. Our facilities will put us on par with most of the major programs in the country."
Maughan was 22 when he took over the North Dakota State program and had just graduated from Moorhead State University. As a wrestler, he won NAIA titles in 1962 and 1963 and also claimed the 1963 NCAA Division I 115-pound championship.
But his wrestling career began at Canonsburg High School. He won three WPIAL titles (1957-59) and one PIAA crown (1959). He placed second in the country in 1957 and 1958.
"I always tell people that I learned to wrestle at the best high school in the best state for wrestling," Maughan said. "We learned the proper way to wrestle and faced some of the best programs in the state."
Maughan's son, Bret, an alumnus and assistant coach the past 10 years, is one of several applicants being considered for the job.
"We have a lot of great applicants for the job," Maughan said. "Our hope is to make a decision in the next couple weeks."

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Saturday, June 18, 2011

A 100-year-old trolley car, Ole Number 1758 is back on the trails and will be re- introduced to the public tomorrowand can be seen at the Pennsylvania Trolley Museum in Washington, PA

The trolley was restored to the way it used to be by volunteers Jim Herron and Bob Alexander.

The rare open air cars, the breezers, summer cars, picnic cars, that’s what they were called. They were used really to refresh people, to take people off into the country to a place like Kennywood amusement park,” says Becker.

The car can top out at 25 miles an hour and it will carry the museum visitors on weekends through Labor Day.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

He wasn’t the kind of man who wanted a lot of attention, but his tall, thin frame was hard to miss. He wore blue jeans every day, regardless of the season, and often paired them with white T-shirts. He had simple tastes, and his lunch usually involved the balanced, gourmet cuisine of bologna sandwiches, Cheez-Its and Pepsi.

He was selfless and gave every part of himself to others, especially me. He gave me everything I asked for. He bought me my first fishing pole, first scooter, first pair of diamond earrings, first house and took me to my first dance.

He took care of my grandmother, who didn’t walk very well and actually spent the last five years of her life bedridden; my mother, who also didn’t walk very well but for different reasons; and me, who he never let walk alone.

He also took care of those he didn’t know. An old local newspaper article reveals he once ran into a burning house to save an elderly man. On his way to the video store, he noticed what became a four-alarm fire and was the first to respond. In a world before cell phones or 911, he quickly pulled to the side of the road, ran into the house, rescued the man and still came home with a copy of “Dirty Dancing” for me.

I had the kind of grandfather that made up for all a fatherless child would miss.

Twenty summers ago we were supposed to go on my first real vacation—that trip to Chesapeake Bay he once promised me after I finished fourth grade with straight As.

I was ready for all the perfection that was an elementary school summer: Slush Puppies, baseball games, riding my pink Huffy, Kennywood, getting lost in the magic of sparklers and fireworks, falling asleep to the sound of a window fan pulling a breeze off of the river behind our house, and the consistent background noise from Pap watching boxing and baseball on TV while my grandmother organized her coupons and medicine.

On my first day of summer vacation Pap took me to lunch and told me we should go to Chesapeake Bay, Va.

But it was just daydreaming out loud.

A few days later he told us he was dying, that a cancer had set his stomach on fire. The most magnificent man I had ever known would have no miracle cure. He only had weeks. And he wouldn’t spend them in a hospital, connected to tubes, surrounded by strangers and saints. He wanted to be home.

I wanted him to be in Chesapeake Bay. I wanted him to take me on my first real vacation. And in that moment the fire grew in my belly instead of his—but it was one of sadness not sickness. I wasn’t ready for him to die.

He needed to be there when I graduated from a bicycle to a car; from Bonnie Bell to Cover Girl, and Cover Girl to Chanel; from New Kids on the Block to Neil Young; from Paula Abdul to Paul McCartney; from Madonna to, well, Madonna. He needed to be there when I was big enough for a bigger fishing pole. He needed to see me graduate from high school, go to college, get married and have my own family. He was supposed to walk me down the aisle.

But he would never know my husband. He would never know my children. Ready or not, he was going. It was his time, he said. He wasn’t afraid of death, and so he dug his own foxhole again—this time in a hospital bed in our living room.

Pap was a war veteran and cheated death for as long as he could. He escaped enemy fire while stationed overseas during World War II and survived liver failure several years before cancer claimed him.

Even though I saw him lose pound after pound and struggle to breathe, I really thought he’d live. Just because I wanted him to.

But he left, and I knew he was gone before anyone told me. It’s a pause that comes to your heart and keeps you from swallowing, from speaking. Everything grows completely silent for that moment, as they just slip away.

The next few days were a whirlwind of visiting family, receiving covered dishes, making phone calls and distracting my grandmother. And, of course, cabbage rolls—a staple in hunky households.

It wasn’t until three weeks after he died that I really learned what loss felt like. It doesn’t hurt during the goodbye, it hurts when you’re forced to live in the void they leave. All the family and friends stop visiting, and cabbage rolls are all that's left behind.

I felt the loss when I passed his chair and still couldn’t bring myself to move the Cheez-Its that sat next to it. When I opened the closet to see shirts he never would’ve filled when he died at 63 years old and 81 pounds. When I saw the monogrammed handkerchiefs I bought him for Father’s Day that year and never got to give to him.

My grandmother watched the door every night for him at 9 p.m., as though he’d return from twilight walks he used to take around town. Sometimes he’d pass out produce from the garden we grew together. Everyone in a five-block area had plenty of tomatoes and scallions, thanks to Pap.

As I got older, I started taking those walks. And I claimed his chair. I kept up with both throughout college and my first apartments. While the chair has since moved on, I still take those walks when it’s warm. When all I need is to stay on my feet.

He was only in my life for 10 years, but 20 years later I still miss him. Life experience, and a series of good and bad relationships, has taught me that people are in our lives for as long as we truly need them to be. Every relationship has its season, and I know I had his best years. We didn’t have a quantity of years, but we made up for it for quality.

While nothing would bring me greater joy than to see him watch my son play baseball and my daughter water her garden, I know I get to share him with them every time I pass on to them whatever he taught me about those things. He’s there every time I donate to a veterans’ group, every time I watch a Buccos game, every time I celebrate Father’s Day.

The man who was supposed to love me most, didn’t. And because of Pap, it didn’t matter.